Desire
by tectrices
Summary: //Rayne// A series of four extended drabbles made into one story. They go through stages. They both know desire. And finally, they act.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Firefly/Serenity.

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**Title:** Desire  
**Characters/Pairing:** pre-Rayne  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** River and Jayne go through stages. He won't let himself see her, he blames her for how he feels, she offers him a chance to know her, they both give in.  
**Date:** 27 September 2008

**-A/N:** Well, here we are! More - again. Heh. This is a series of four ficlets combined into one story. I wrote the last one, "Sacrifice", first, but didn't intend to make it a series. Guess it just sort of grew on its own! Anyway, thanks for reading. Please review, as well; I love feedback!

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**:Only**

She is a pair of thin, white thighs.

He sees nothing else when he looks at her - not the flailing arms when she fights her brother, not the wide, knowing eyes planted in her round face, not the bare feet she speaks to _Serenity_ with. He only sees the smooth skin, the length of her legs leading up to her hips. It is a beautiful sight.

But he wants to see her stained. The skin is unkissed, untouched - white as real milk. It reminds him of some porcelain doll; she is no doll. He wants to see her in guts, blood, and grime - filth covering that pristine skin.

Then... _Then_ he could touch her like he has longed to. Then he could grab hold, let those legs wrap around his body, trace his tongue up those sleek, supple thighs to the piece of heaven between them.

He's never wanted anything as badly as he wants that body. She haunts his dreams, taunts him with her very presence each day they're on the ship. But he will be able to control himself, be able to handle things as long as he remembers: she is not a graceful, deadly weapon with unmatched precision, she is not an insane girl, nearly alone in the 'verse. She is not River: young, brilliant, and abused.

She is a pair of thin, white thighs.

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**:Fault**

With trembling hands, he unzipped his pants.

She had been doing it _again_ - breathing, speaking, spinning, each movement another step in some ancient, primal dance. He could hardly tear his eyes away.

She was exquisite, an alabaster-skinned goddess with tangled hair and wild eyes. Her body was built for sin: supple and strong, lithe and limber, a garden of forbidden pleasures he'd give _anything_ to explore.

He wanted to tear that body apart.

It wasn't fair, what she did to him. It wasn't fair that she wasn't sane, that he could never touch her, that his fantasies left him feeling filthy and depraved. It was all her fault, and the blame he felt only fueled the ever-increasing fire.

She made him sick. Every flash of skin was another dose of the same drug - and he wanted more and more and _more_ and he thought he might not make it through the day if he couldn't see her, if he didn't get a glimpse of that forbidden, ivory skin...

He wrapped his hand around his cock, hating himself - _hating_ himself - for imagining the girl (the _child_, she was only a teenager) naked and moaning right there with him. He wanted to _touch_ her, taste her - looking wouldn't be enough for him much longer. He wanted to hear her scream, to sink into her young, unclaimed body.

He wanted to worship his pale, ghostly goddess.

Her name was on his lips as his body wrenched with pleasure - he spoke it like a prayer or a profane offering to her innocent beauty.

"River," he sighed, sinking down onto the floor, his pants still around his knees. "Oh... _River..._"

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**:Offering**

He was watching her again; she shivered, feeling his eyes like thick, sweaty fingers on her skin.

They were alone in the hold, the others all elsewhere, and his mind was pushing hot, florid images into the space behind her eyes. It was so intrusive, so _wrong_...

That despite herself, she wanted more.

She could feel his disgust, feel the guilt that gnawed at him as he pictured her naked and raw. Her body trembled and her flesh began to sing.

His desire was so strong it made her knees quake. He wanted her, wanted to worship her tender, nubile body with worn, experienced hands. Could she wash his sins away? Cleanse that coarse, filthy feeling with her cool, tiny hands? She was a goddess in his eyes, and it was the most intoxicating feeling in the entire 'Verse.

She moaned and he glanced over. His breath caught as her fingertips brushed her clavicle. He stood as she fell to her knees. His lust was suffocating; she wanted to _feel_ it, wanted to feel more than the ghostly after-images of his vivid, arousing fantasies. He was already staring when she lifted her eyes to his.

A hand lifted her skirt.

His attention was fixed. She whimpered as she picked out the warm, tantalizing pictures in his head. She wanted him so badly it hurt.

_'Do it,'_ his mind screamed, his eyes pushing her hand up her thigh.

Her fingers danced at her hipbone, not daring enough to venture lower.

He took a step closer, wiping a hand across his mouth. _'Do it,_ he pushed, his mind a whorl of dark, pulsing energy - his thoughts beautiful and soft, wanting her not because she was brilliant, not because she could fight, not because she had a price. She was wanted just because she was herself. _'Do it,'_ he urged again. _'Touch yourself. For me.'_

And she let trembling fingers dance down to the warmth between her legs. "Jayne," she breathed, feeling intoxicated and empowered and so, so _warm_. "Oh... Yes. Jayne... For you."

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**:Sacrifice**

"That's right, little darlin' - ain't gonna hurt you."

She trembles beneath him and feels helpless, like a child.

"Just one taste; you're so ruttin' sweet. Mmm, girl... You're so gorram beautiful."

She feels his tongue and his hairy face. Her breasts are heavy under his hands; he does things that make her body shake.

"Y'like that? You look... I gotta touch you _now_, baby girl."

He takes off her dress and he touches where she's never let anyone else; all the feelings are undefineable - new and strange - and his thoughts buzz around her and coat her thickly with lust. She wonders if she wants this, or if only he does.

"Never felt skin this smooth - like you're made o' silk. Oh, River girl... Got heaven 'tween your thighs."

It hurts; he doesn't seem to notice. She watches him above her, marvelling at the lines of his strong body. And at last, she starts to feel something lovely and warm - and it doesn't matter any more if it's wrong, because the girl now knows she wants the man.

So she closes her eyes... and lets him take her.

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Feedback and reviews - always appreciated.


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